


Dressed up

by Chatote



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Halloween, How do angels and demons are supposed to dress?, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:20:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chatote/pseuds/Chatote
Summary: Crowley knows exactly which costumes he wants them to wear.





	Dressed up

Aziraphale didn’t really know how it had happened, but here he was, on the 31st of October, dressed up as an angel when he’d rather be reading a good old book in his bookshop with a hot cup of tea. After all, this particular night was about keeping the evil spirits away and, as an angel, it was sort of his job in humans’ imagination. So, if Halloween should be anything to him, it should be a day off during which humans would do his imaginary job for him by dressing up in ways so terrible that they would frighten the hypothetic monsters away. 

Also, he did know how it had happened, he simply didn’t know how Crowley had convinced to do it. 

“Come on, angel!“ the demon had said in a childish lingering voice. He had been sprawled on a sofa, surrounded by two piles of books covered with a thin layer of dust. “It’ll be fun. You know, _fun_. Remember how it feels?“ Aziraphale, sat at his desk, had rolled his eyes, but his friend had kept talking and, before realising it, the angel was dressed in a long white drape with a golden ring above his head and his wings in full display—what’s the point of having wings if you can’t use them on Halloween? 

He liked it, if he was honest with himself. Having them tucked away became uncomfortable after a long time. It felt like when you stay too long in bed, and your limbs forget how to move so when you finally get up, you feel like an old person with arthritis and every move you make is agony. 

It had been Crowley’s idea to dress up as ‘who they truly were’. Him as a demon, and Aziraphale as an angel, in the _human_ way. For a brief moment, he had even thought about transforming into a serpent and spending the night either crawling between Aziraphale’s legs or hanging on his shoulders and hissing at partiers, but Aziraphale had put a limit to what he was willing to accept and had argued that it would cause too many problems 1.

Instead, Crowley had put on red horns and a red and black outfit with a small pointy tail, his huge white wigs clashing radically with the outfit. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, his yellow eyes fitting perfectly with the night’s theme, and his snakelike tongue was darting out of his mouth more than it usually did. He even had a touch of eyeliner that gave his eyes a shady style. 

When Big Ben struck 7pm, they were walking down Piccadilly Street, chatting about what their respective sides were doing for the celebration of the dead2. Fairy lights made of electric candles were suspended between buildings and the artificial smell of pumpkins mixed disgustingly with the relents of sweat the passer-byes were emitting. All was going well so far but, obviously, it couldn’t last.

 

“Hey, you!“ someone called behind them. Crowley would have kept strolling had Aziraphale not glanced behind curiously and grabbed him by the arm. A young girl with the same horns and tail as Crowley, only in a smaller size, was looking straight at them. Behind her were standing a yellowish ghost and a tenish year-old vampire carrying a black bag half-full of sweets. 

“Yes?“ Aziraphale asked gently, thinking the small group had a problem. 

“His costume’s wrong,“ she said, pointing an accusative finger at Crowley. “Demons don’t have wings. Besides, even if they did, they’re better groomed than yours and _everyone_ knows that demons don’t put any thoughts in how they look when angels are _always_ impeccable.“ 

Aziraphale barely managed to turn his smirk into a small smile. He felt Crowley tense behind him. The real demon was about to stand up for himself, probably intending to give a whole lecture on how demons _always_ dressed smartly and angels didn’t have a clue on which clothes they should wear, and even less idea of how to take care of their wings3. 

Before that could happen, Aziraphale nodded at the girl. “You’re entirely right,“ he said. He turned to look at Crowley. “I told you so before leaving home. Why don’t you ever listen to me?“ Had he been a less brave angel, Crowley’s golden eyes would have burned a hole in his body. Instead, Aziraphale turned back to the girl and thanked her for her advice. 

“ _I told you so?_ “ Crowley hissed once the three children had disappeared into the crowd. “They don’t know anything.“ He threw a disgusted look at Aziraphale’s wings. “I don’t even understand how you can go out with them looking like… like that.“ He was about to add something clever but froze all of a sudden, his eyes widening slightly and his lips parting in a silent ‘Oh’. 

“Crowley?“ Aziraphale said worryingly. Crowley shook his head, and smiled brightly at Aziraphale who didn’t took it as a good sign. Not a good sign at all. 

“I’m so stupid,“ Crowley muttered. He grabbed the angel by his arm and dragged him toward a dark alley. “How did I not think about it earlier?“ This went on until they arrived in a dead end where trash bags, smashed bottles and vomit were littering the road. Aziraphale was too surprised to talk. 

A cat mewed in the night. The air smelt like rotten tomatoes. The distant sound of animations and music was still audible, but a heavy silence soon installed itself. Aziraphale’s heartbeat quickened in fear, something that hadn’t happened since the failed Armageddon. 

“Crowley?“ he said in a low voice. The said being was looking up and paying little attention to Aziraphale. He extended his wings and, without any word to explain what was happening, rose toward the sky.

Sighting heavily at this unnecessary mystery, and still worried as to what was going on, Aziraphale imitated him. The brick walls were too close to make flying comfortable. Only the sound of air rushing under the pull of powerful muscles broke the quietness.

Crowley was standing on the rooftop. From there, Aziraphale could see the London Eye turning lazily, the Elizabeth Tower proudly looking down at its subjects and the dark trees of Saint James Park.

“Strip,“ Crowley ordered once Aziraphale had landed. 

“What?“ Aziraphale exclaimed. At his point, he was strongly envisaging the possibility that Crowley evil spirits _did_ visit planet Earth and one of them had taken control of his friend’s body. The demon, who had kept a straight face during the whole journey, broke into a grin.

“We’re changing costumes!“ he exclaimed, bouncing up and down excitedly. “I’ll be an angel and you, a demon.“ 

Aziraphale stared.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Come on!“ 

Aziraphale kept staring. 

Crowley snapped his fingers. 

Aziraphale was now wearing red horns and a red and black outfit with a small pointy tail. His eyes weren’t yellow but he still looked demon-like. His blond hair were sticking in all directions, and a drop of gloss had made his lips redder than he thought necessary. 

Crowley, on the other hand, had a ring hovering above his black now-perfectly-combed hair and a white dress was covering his body. The previous costume suited him much better, Aziraphale noted sadly4.

“If Gabriel sees this, I’ll hear about it ’til the end of time,“ he grumbled. “You should put your sunglasses on,“ he added. “Angels don’t have yellow eyes.“

Crowley, who had been admiring his clothing, looked up and frowned. “Angels don’t wear sunglasses neither,“ he said. 

“Some of them do.“

“Really? Never saw one,“ Crowley replied, but he did materialised sunglasses out of nowhere and put them on his nose. “Come here, there’s no way I’m letting you go around as a demon with your wings in this state. I have a reputation to keep.“

The next fifteen minutes were painful for Aziraphale, but Crowley was as gentle as possible and, soon, his wings were cleaner than they had been in a thousand years. Their feet were covered by a hundred feathers and Aziraphale’s back muscles were sorer than he thought possible5.

“What if someone sees us?“ Aziraphale asked as they were about to fly down. 

Crowley shrugged. “They’ll think they’ve drunk too much.“

Back in the street, they resumed their previous discussions and Aziraphale laughed heartily at the thought of Hastur being told to wear a huge blue tricorn and sing before Hell’s court by the Devil himself. He also noted than he was receiving much more looks—from women and men alike. He even suspected some of them to trip intentionally before him, hoping it would be a way to make contact. It made him feel self-conscious, and he tugged at his clothes and passed his hand in his hair nervously. It was always Crowley who was the ‘attractive’ one nowadays, and Aziraphale was entirely fine with that. He didn’t appreciate being the centre of the attention. At all. 

As they walked, they slowly left the busiest areas for smaller, calmer ones. Being a demon, even a false one, didn’t felt so bad, Aziraphale reflected. He was unconsciously twirling the long black tail with his fingers, and Crowley had to tap him gently on the hand for him to let it go before it could detach itself from the rest of the costume. 

A dozen of houses before them, a miniature pharaoh—whose costume was really inaccurate according to Aziraphale who had greatly enjoyed ancient Egypt, way to much clothes and not enough golden jewels—was knocking on a door. 

“Trick or Treat?“ they heard him say when the door opened. He presented his bag, more empty than full. 

The tall white man who had appeared scorned angrily and slammed the door in the child’s face. The whole ordeal hadn’t last a full minute. By the time Aziraphale and Crowley arrived, the boy had sat on the street and was sobbing, his head lowered and his bag left abandoned in the gutter. 

“Hey,“ Aziraphale said soft, putting a hand on the child’s shoulder. “You’re alright?“ The child didn’t respond, but his cries lessened. Unsure of what to do—he had never been particularly good with children—he squeezed his hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. 

Leaving to Aziraphale the task of taking care of the pharaoh, Crowley picked up the bag and turned to look at the house. He strongly disliked adults who were intentionally mean to the younger humans. Not even a demon would do such a thing. Children were sacred, even for them. 

He snapped his fingers. 

When he gave the bag to Ethan—which was the name of the pharaoh, Aziraphale had discover— who wasn’t crying anymore, though his eyes were still red, he saw Aziraphale blink and, suddenly, a heavy charge appeared in his hands and the bag took a well rounded form. Ethan’s eyes bulged as he saw it. Inside, dozens of sweets had appeared6. But, before he could taste one, a woman appeared at the end of the street. Ethan rose his head in surprise when she shouted his name. He gulped and looked at the two of them. 

“Thank you,“ he said. “You’re a nice demon.“ And ran away. 

Aziraphale scratched his head. What an awkward little boy. Crowley was pouting about the ‘nice demon’ but cheered up when a horrified scream came from the house. 

“What have you done?“ the angel asked. “I know it’s you.“

“Let’s, just say,“ Crowley said slowly, “that this man has probably found his bed full of long vicious lizards and won’t have the privilege of enjoying sugar anymore. It’s not good for the teeth anyway.“

Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to argue against his friend’s punishment. It was, indeed, well deserved. 

“It’s the Sword and the Apple all over again,“ Crowley said a while later after they had joined Oxford Street. “What if I had done the right thing by punishing someone who wasn’t nice and you did the wrong by giving sweets to a child, knowing that sweets ruin humans’ health? Or is it the other way round?“ Aziraphale was about to retort that this argument had never really ended but shouldn’t exist neither because it was all part of the ineffable plan when someone tucked at his vest. 

“S’cuse me,“ a 15 year-old angel said.

“Yes?“ Crowley said, kneeling before the little angel though Aziraphale had been the one tucked at. 

“Demons don’t have blond hair,“ he said, nodding toward Aziraphale. “They have black hair. And they always make sure to dress smartly.“ He looked at the angel dressed as a demon. “You’re all… dishevelled.“ He turned back to Crowley. “And angels don’t wear sunglasses. You two really don’t know anything, do you?“ He shook his head, took his bag and walked away, leaving two dumbstruck celestial beings behind him. Crowley didn’t even threw a ‘I told you so’ at Aziraphale. 

“Really, dear boy,“ Aziraphale said eventually, “I think we’d better stay home next year. Dressing up is far too difficult.“

***

Late, that night, once all the animation had died and they were making their way back to Aziraphale’s bookshop, Crowley slipped his hand in Aziraphale’s. He had taken his glasses off and the moon’s light was dancing in his eyes. His hair had lost all sense of order and were as messy as Aziraphale’s. 

“It was nice,“ the latter said. It had, indeed, been better than what he had been expecting. “We should do it again next year.“

Crowley shook his hand. “Not a chance.“

“Why?“ Aziraphale said with a frown? Crowley had seemed to greatly enjoy himself, especially after they had started to visit every bars that were celebrating—that was, all of them. 

“Everyone was looking at you,“ Crowley said. “You do look pretty as a demon, angel.“

Aziraphale blushed. He squeezed Crowley’s hand and planted his eyes in his. “And you’re a beautiful angel, my boy. I don’t need another one.“

* * *

 

  1. Besides, he didn’t want the police to burst into his bookshop thinking he was responsible for animal traffic.
  2. This was a fascinating conversation that would probably interest more than one reader, especially since it involves big blue hats, alcohol and dancing with trees on _both_ sides, but since it has little to do with the current stories, let’s put it aside for another, more convenient, time.
  3. Crowley was, indeed, about to do it.  
  4. He had discovered early—around 5000BC—that bad boys attracted him much more than good ones. Was it the fault of one being in particular, well, that was for him to know, and only him.
  5. He hadn’t groomed his wings for slightly more than a thousand years ago, and this memory was buried deep inside himself. 
  6. Aziraphale didn’t know what kind of sweets were fashionable right at the moment, so he had put all kinds. There was liquorice, haribos, acid drops, chocolates, lollipops, devil tongues, etc.




End file.
